


Where You Are

by bottledspirits



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:52:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottledspirits/pseuds/bottledspirits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story of unlikely meetings and followings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cranky, this is your doing.

She was nursing her third mug of ale when someone bumped the table, causing her drink to tip precariously. Belle put her hands out to secure the sloshing mess. She glanced up to see who had disturbed her and caught sight of a flutter of pink.

A young woman stood before the table, looking around anxiously. Belle was rather stunned by the outfit the girl was wearing. It was a kind of pink tutu, with little wisps of a gauzy material running off the sides, and a top that barely allowed for any kind of modesty. The girl’s hair was done up in an elaborate bun of sorts, with tendrils of hair running free for effect. It was all rather ridiculous, but the girl looked lovely, all the same. Belle only wondered how she managed to keep everything in place.

The girl was turning on the spot. She had a worried look. Belle realized the girl was going to bump the table again and quickly grabbed her mug. It wouldn’t do to chip things here.

As expected, the girl turned, and her voluminous skirt knocked into the table. Belle was surprised when the skirt didn’t lose its shape. What was it made of? Was it held up with wires, or something?

“Oh!” the young woman whirled around and set eyes on Belle. “I’m so sorry! Did I hurt you?”

“No, no,” Belle said kindly. She could feel the a spreading stain of ale where it had splashed her skirt, and that would be awkward to clean, seeing as this was her only dress, but she saw no reason to be unkind the this girl. She was clearly out of sorts.

“I’m always making a mess of things,” the young woman said despairingly. She took a handkerchief out and began dabbing at the spots of ale on the table.

Belle surveyed the girl. She seemed the hopeless sort of person who always expects to get things wrong. It reminded Belle rather painfully of herself. Only recently someone had proved to her that such trifling matters were just that – trifles, easily forgiven.

She reached a hand out to the other woman’s to stop her.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Belle said. The girl looked up at her. Belle smiled and went on, “Maybe you’re too quick to judge yourself.”

There was the briefest flicker of a smile on the girl’s face before she looked away. She appeared to be blushing.

“That’s very kind of you,” the girl said quietly.

Belle frowned. There appeared to be something weighing heavily on this girl’s mind.

“Is something troubling you?” Belle asked. The girl turned her eyes on Belle. “Are you looking for someone?”

The girl gave a nervous half-turn, as if expecting to find someone watching her, and looked back at Belle, though she did not meet her eyes.

“As…as a matter of f-fact, I am…” she said. She was suddenly very nervous and very pink.

Belle grinned. So she was shy.

“What does he look like? Is he meeting you here?” Belle asked. She gestured for the girl to sit down. The girl did so gladly, albeit a bit awkwardly in her apparatus of a dress, and cast one last look around the bar before turning back to Belle and leaning forward conspiratorially.

“He’s a dwarf,” the girl said in a hushed whisper, as if passing clandestine information. Belle resisted the urge to look around the bar. They were surrounded by dwarves.

“What kind of dwarf is he?” Belle asked. She hoped that talking of her beloved would help lift the girl’s nerves, but she also would need a bit more information if she was going to help find him.

The girl’s eyes lit up.

“Oh, he’s the sweetest – but don’t get me wrong, he can be a bit of a grump – and most helpful – although he’ll pretend he’s doing anything but helping you,” the girl babbled, mesmerized by her own thoughts. She fidgeted with her hands before throwing them up before her, and then gave a start, as if coming to her senses, and carefully tucked her hands before her.

Belle did her best not to grin outright, but she could feel the corners of her mouth turning up despite her efforts.

 The girl smiled fondly at her hands and went on, “And the way he talks about things – about life, about the world – you’d think he was a hundred years old and a newborn, all at once. He knows so much, but he says he hasn’t seen anything. And he wants to – see it all, I mean.”

Belle looked into her mug, staring at her reflection in the dark liquid. She saw herself smiling more than she felt it. She remembered what it felt like to fall in love with someone, the fluttering warmth and dizzying anxiety that seemed to take over her body in turns. She could still feel it, even now, although it was tempered by a painful tug in her heart.

“A dreamy kind of guy, then?” Belle asked. She forced herself to look up and smile.

The girl’s head snapped up as if Belle had said something shocking.

“Yes, he is! T-that’s his name, actually,” the girl said. She blushed and looked away, as if she’d just confessed something.

“Dreamy?” Belle said, her smile genuine now. What a perfect pair these two must have made.

The girl nodded. She was too flustered to do anything else.

“And what’s your name?” Belle asked.

The girl looked up.

“I’m Nova,” she said. Her voice was bright and clear, as if this was the one thing in the world she could be sure of. She was proud of herself, if only for a moment.

“That’s a pretty name,” Belle said. Nova flushed a little and opened her mouth to speak, but quickly closed it again. Belle could guess what she meant to say, however, and added, “My name is Belle.”

“Oh, that’s lovely!” Nova said. She reached a hand across the table to squeeze one of Belle’s. “It’s nice to meet you, Belle. I don’t have many friends down here.”

Belle guessed that by “down here” she meant among the dwarves. It was no wonder; they weren’t known for socializing with outsiders.

“Are you meeting him here?” she asked. Nova gave her a puzzled look, so Belle explained, “The one you were looking for, Dreamy?”

The anxious look returned to Nova’s face. She stood up in a hurry, her skirt knocking against the table, and Belle fumbled to keep her mug from spilling again.

“A-actually, no. We met earlier, on the hill,” Nova stammered.  She scanned the bar, then the tables, and couldn’t seem to stand still.

Belle frowned.  This was starting to sound familiar.

“To watch the fireflies?” she asked.

Nova rounded on Belle then, her eyes wide. She leaned over the table to grasp Belle’s hands in her own.

“You know? Have you seen him? Please, I have to find him!” Nova pleaded. Belle found herself gripping the girl’s hands gently. She seemed so frightened.

“He was here earlier, before he went to see you. He wasn’t sure of your feelings, so I told him he should go, to be with you,” Belle said. A thought struck her. She looked up, her face drawn. “Please don’t say it went wrong…”

Nova dropped Belle’s hands and to cover her face. She stifled a sob.

“Oh, I don’t know what happened!” Nova cried, dropping to her seat again. “He told me we shouldn’t be together – that it was all just a dream. He said dwarves can’t love!”

Belle stared. They were attracting a few curious glances, but everyone was quick to look away when Belle returned their stares.  She went back to Nova. The girl had buried her head in her arms and was shaking ever so slightly.

“That’s can’t be true,” Belle said. She put a hand on Nova’s arm. The girl didn’t respond. “I saw him, the way he spoke of you. It can’t be true! You just have to believe!”

“But what could I say to him? What if he truly thinks he can’t love me?”  Nova’s voice was muffled.

It felt as if a shot went through Belle’s heart. She leaned over the table to whisper close to Nova’s ear.

“Then you have to try. Prove that you can love him, and that he can love you. Try, at least once. That’s all you can do,” Belle said.

Nova peered over her arm.

“Do you really think I can?” she asked. Belle smiled, though it cost her to do so, for the pain in her heart was as sweet as it was sad.

“You came all this way,” Belle assured her. “So you can’t have given up on him yet.”

That seemed to rouse Nova. The girl sat up and wiped at her eyes.

“Yes,” Nova said. “You’re right.”

She took out her handkerchief again. Belle did not see where she got it from – it almost seemed to materialize out of thin air. She was used to that, with Rumpelstiltskin, but he was different. This girl was no sorceress. She hadn’t the faintest trace of dark magic about her.

The two were nothing alike. Belle felt her features twist into a forlorn smile. It seemed everything would remind her of him.

So lost was Belle in her thoughts that she didn’t realize Nova had risen from her seat again until that blasted skirt bumped the table once more. Belle shook herself and reached over to steady her mug. There wasn’t much left in it now, but that was no reason to spill it all over the floor.

“You’re right,” Nova said. She put her handkerchief away and straightened her dress. “I came all this way, I can’t give up now. Not until I’ve tried to convince him one more time.”

A change had come over the girl. She stood a little straighter, held herself a little higher. Belle could see she was rousing her courage.

“Where will you go now?” Belle asked.

Nova turned and smiled. Her expression wavered for only a moment.

“To the mines. I know I’ll find him there, if nothing else. He always was a hard worker,” Nova said with a hint of pride in her voice.

“I wish you luck,” Belle said, smiling. She was glad to see someone’s love life might be on the way to improvement.

Nova clasped her hands together.

“Thank you for your kind words. I won’t forget them,” Nova said brightly, beaming down at her.

Belle flushed. It was her turn to be embarrassed.

“Oh, you’re welcome. I-it’s no matter,” she said quickly. She paused then, remembering when she had last heard those same words, and the ghost of a frown passed over her face before she could help herself.

Nova gazed at her, tilting her head to one side.

“Is there nothing I can do for you in return?” the girl asked.

Belle shook her head.

“I’m perfectly fine,” she lied. She looked up at the other girl and smiled as best she could, though she wanted very much to order another round and drink until the night was over.

But Nova was watching her in a careful way. Belle realized she was being studied.

“Is there truly nothing you want? Nowhere you’d like to go, nothing you’d like to see?” the girl was looking at her very intently.

“No…” Belle said slowly, not sure why this girl would be asking her such things, but she found her thoughts drifting. She knew exactly what she wanted – who she wanted.

“You see, I can’t do much, but I do have–” Nova began, and she moved to take something from her waist. There was a small pouch there, Belle realized. It resisted Nova’s efforts to come loose, but as the girl tugged, Belle could see the strings that kept the pouch closed coming undone. As Nova gave a strong tug, the cords flew open.

For a moment there was a shimmering haze in the air, and then Belle felt a strong stinging in her eyes. Her hands flew to her face. Whatever had been in the pouch was now on her – in her eyes, her hair, and falling in dusty spirals all over her dress. Belle tried to take a breath and found her lungs full of the stuff. It burned. She coughed, to no avail. Everywhere the stuff touched seemed to come alive.

It was a sensation she was vaguely familiar with, from when she had left her father’s house. It was hard to remember now, in the state she was in. There had been a hand on her waist, and a face near her own, with a look that was neither a smile nor a leer, and then that same strange feeling on her skin, just before she had been –

“Oh, oh!” she heard Nova crying. “Quick – think of what you want!”

What I want? Belle thought. All she wanted was to have this horrible stuff off her, but her thoughts betrayed her. She thought of long hands, of a pair of sad eyes, of the smell of leather and straw.

And then she was gone. 


	2. Chapter 2

Something had gone wrong.

That was all Belle could think. She was hurtling through space, tumbling and diving and spinning like a leaf in a gale. The wind whipped at her mercilessly. It felt like tiny thorns pricking her skin, tugging at her hair, pulling her every which way and then thrusting her back again.

She tried opening her eyes, but the wind was too strong. She quickly squeezed them shut again.

It was cold, so cold. Her body ached all over.

Would she be trapped like this? Forever falling and spinning out of control? Would she ever see…

“Rumpelstiltskin!” Belle cried. She could not hear her voice over the roar of the wind.

It was not a plea, not a cry for help, but the voicing of a deep, desperate anguish in her heart. To be cast aside was one thing, but this was another. All this suffering, because someone in a bar had thrown a bunch of dust in her face? Because, in that one moment, when asked what she wanted in all the world, she had thought of the man she loved?

 _Please_ , she thought.  _If there’s any such thing as magic, any such thing as mercy or love, let him hear me_.  _Just once, let him hear me._

For a moment the world contracted, drawing in tight around her until Belle thought she would be crushed.

Then it all went slack. She felt nothing, not even the wind around her. There was a strange lightness, as one might feel after landing in a cloud.

Belle felt a flutter in her stomach as she recalled the last time she had felt this way, when she had fallen from a great height and felt a pair of strong arms around her…

Her feet met solid stone. Belle stumbled slightly, her legs shaky after her ordeal, and she landed on all fours.  She remained there, wherever she was, as she caught her breath. She dared not open her eyes.

The stone was cool under her fingers, though she could feel a warmth at her side. There was the crackle of a fire. She could smell the smoke, and it was strangely comforting.

There was another scent. Something warm but sharp, something familiar…

Belle opened her eyes.

The room was dark. What little light filtered through the tall windows was pale against the glow of the fireplace. It was enough to illuminate the long table that stood in the middle of the room, and to give an edge to the various pedestals around the walls. It might have looked eerie to one unaccustomed to such a sight, but Belle had seen this room before in every possible light.

This was home.

Belle felt as if her heart had stopped. Her eyes drifted to the corner of the room, where an enormous wheel stood on a raised platform. Someone sat beside it, one hand patiently turning the wheel as gently as one might stroke a lamb. Belle could not see the hand that fed the thread to the wheel, but she could see a glimmer from the other side, like a thread of pure light that streamed from the wheel into a pool in a basket on the floor.  

The person who sat by the wheel was not an imposing figure, at least not in size.  Belle regarded him with a mixture of dread and joy in her stomach nonetheless. She watched the way the light flickered on his impossibly neat curls, the way the shadows caressed the curve of his arm. She took in the movements of his hands, the turn of his head, the stiff set of his shoulders; shoulders she had once touched…she could remember the feel of his shirt under her hands. He had drawn a breath then, as she did now.

The wheel creaked gently with each movement. It was the only sound in the room apart from the fire. Belle felt at once at home and alone. Surely he must have noticed her arrival here?

“Rumpelstiltskin?” she called. Her voice sounded small in the great room.

The figure at the wheel froze. The wheel stopped as it met his hand. There was a sound of creaking leather and wood as he turned to look in the direction of the fireplace.

She felt a thrill course through her as his eyes fell on the place where she sat. Would he be angry with her for returning? How could she possibly explain what had happened? Would she even be able to speak to him?

All at once she felt self-conscious, crouched on the floor as she was. She tried to be as graceful as possible as she stood. She brushed soot from the fireplace and the remnants of the strange pink dust from her dress. The dust tingled where it met her skin.

Belle ignored it. She smoothed her dress and looked up, smiling despite herself.

“Rum–” she began, unable to help the note hope in her voice as she spoke.

“Is someone there?” he asked. His voice was harsh.

Belle stopped abruptly. She stared in wonder at Rumpelstiltskin. He was glaring at the space in front of the fireplace as if he didn’t see her at all.

“Rumpelstiltskin?” she called uncertainly.

He stood in one fluid motion and stalked over to the fireplace. He moved with the confidence she had seen in his dealings with her father, rather than the halting gait he had assumed around her. She had grown used to the way he hesitated around her, and the difference was striking.

 “Can’t you–” Belle began, reaching out a hand as he drew closer.

He strode right past her.

“I know you’re here, dearie,” he called to the room. “You can’t hide from me.”

Belle drew her hand back as if burned. Rumpelstiltskin was glancing around the room like a nervous animal, his eyes darting to every dark shadow. He was right in front of her, and he could not see her.

She reached out again, touching his shoulder as she called “Rumpelstiltskin?”

He spun around. For a moment she thought he had seen her, but his eyes did not settle on her face. He was looking everywhere behind him as if he could not find the source of his distraction.

She could tell just by looking at him that he was anxious. Belle had seen that look on his face before, when they had spoken together in this very room. There was a twitch in his features, and a hunted look in his eyes that spoke something of the kind of life he had lived long ago.

But he had responded to her. In some way, he had felt her presence. Reassured, she tried to touch him again, but he moved out of her reach and addressed the room again.

“You’ve found a clever trick, but it won’t work on me. Not for long,” Rumpelstiltskin said. A cruel smirk twisted his features beyond recognition.

He had spoken in the direction of the door. If Belle hadn’t been so frightened, she might have laughed.

“I’m here!” she said. “Can’t you see me?”

Rumpelstiltskin paid her no heed as he walked away. She followed him, puzzled and terrified.

He opened the door with a wave of a hand and she hurried to get through the doorway before it closed again.

She had no idea where he was headed, prowling through the dark corridors as he was. Why did he not light the fixtures that lined the hall? Did he like walking in darkness? No matter how long she knew the man, he was still a mystery.

He walked confidently through the halls of his castle. She wondered if he could feel her presence at all now.

They came to a staircase. Rumpelstiltskin did not hesitate, but Belle paused at the bottom. These steps led to his workshop in the tower. She had seen it briefly before. He had not wanted her in the room, even to clean. When she had asked why, Rumpelstiltskin had made a cryptic remark about curious cats. She had been unable to hold back a smile then. Now she was not so sure.

Still, what more harm could be done? Unless he meant to kill his intruder, and she could hardly avoid it in the state she was in. She didn’t even know if she could open a door.

So Belle dutifully climbed the steps to follow the man who had once been her master. She had not feared him then, and she would not begin now.

He had disappeared around the corner of the stair. Belle hurried to catch up. She almost collided with him as she turned a corner. He had stopped to look out one of the narrow windows that dotted the tower. Belle stumbled back to avoid him, drawing a breath as she came to a stop.

Rumpelstiltskin seemed to notice her somehow, by sight or sound she did not know, or else he assumed she was nearby, for he spoke to the air in general:

“You know, people have come to my castle before. Most of the courtesy of coming to the front door,” he remarked, a note of amusement in his voice. He continued to stare out the window. He looked lost, a wistful expression on his face as he surveyed the land below. Belle wondered what he could be looking at.

He gave his head a light shake and turned away.

“No matter. Whatever you’ve come for, you shan’t find it. And you’ll learn to be more…cautious,” Rumpelstiltskin said. His lips curled in a cruel way. He almost seemed pleased with the prospect.

He swept up the stairs like he hadn’t stopped at all. Belle moved to follow him. She could not resist looking out the window as she passed, to see what he had been so focused on.

But all she saw was the road that led to the castle. Frowning, Belle turned away as well and continued up the steps.

Rumpelstiltskin had reached the top of the tower. He was almost dancing with excitement.

“Come along, dearie,” he said, as Belle struggled up the last of the steps. He added gleefully, “I have something I want to show you.”

She glanced at the towering shelves of books that lined the room. In her few times in the tower she had tried to touch them under the pretense of dusting. Rumpelstiltskin had tut-tutted her for that, warning her that things in the tower were not all they seemed.

Belle had smiled at that, asking if “things” included him. He had faltered at her question, fiddling with his fingers for a moment before responding that he least of all was what he seemed.

She wondered about that now more than ever. What could he mean to do here? She had seldom seen him work magic.

Belle shivered. There was no doubt that whatever he meant to do would be unpleasant for her, but if it freed her from this half-existence, she could hardly complain. She stepped closer to him. He was engrossed in his one of his shelves, his fingers dancing down the row of little bottles.

“Now, what shall it be?” Rumpelstiltskin said. She was sure he meant her to hear it.

Belle rolled her eyes. He always was one for theatrics.

“Ah,” he said, lifting a bottle from the shelf. “This should be interesting.”

Belle leaned past him. She had never understood much about these bottles, except that they held powers most would never dream of controlling. Belle was sure that one of them contained darkness itself.

The bottle’s place on the shelf was marked by a strange symbol she did not recognize. She looked at Rumpelstiltskin instead. His long fingers were wrapped around the bottle. It contained a sprig of an herb Belle had never seen before.

There was the strangest look on Rumpelstiltskin’s face – a kind of excitement and fascination. The pale moonlight streaming through the windows made him look almost inhuman.

“This,” Rumpelstiltskin called, as if he did not know if his unexpected guest was close or not, “has the power to reveal one’s true form. It does, however, have some side effects.”

He chuckled.

“I do hope you’re prepared for what you see.”

He uncorked the bottle. Belle watched in awe as a greyish-white smoke poured out, far more than the bottle should have been able to contain. It filled the room, blocking out everything but the form of Rumpelstiltskin and herself.

Her vision blurred. Belle coughed and backed away, waving her arm at the smoke.

There was a window behind her. Belle stumbled against it and fumbled with the latch.

“Ah, that’s more like it, isn’t it?” she heard Rumpelstiltskin say.

Only it didn’t sound like him. Rather, it sounded like two voices speaking at once. One was smooth and warm, somehow familiar despite its heavy accent. The other voice was high and grating, almost like a shriek. It did not sound human.

Belle looked up, squinting in the smoke. She saw Rumpelstiltskin standing there. He was at once familiar and strange to her. He looked…he looked _human_. Like the man she had briefly seen after sharing her first kiss with a supposed monster.

But Belle did not look at him. Instead she stared at what surrounded him – a dark, shapeless form. It writhed and curled on itself, forming a cage of sorts around the man before her.

Couldn’t he see it? Couldn’t he feel it? It was all over him, snaking around his limbs, wrapping around his neck. Could it kill him?

“What’s the matter, dearie? Frightened of the beast?”

Belle tried to look into his eyes. She could not see him clearly.

“Rumpelstiltskin…” she whispered, her voice weak from the smoke. Was this the curse he struggled with?

“Now, now,” he said, stepping closer. The darkness moved with him. “You know who I am, now who are–”

He froze when he saw her. His eyes locked on her face.

“You’re…” Rumpelstiltskin breathed.

He reached for her, and as he did, the dark mass around him stretched toward her as well. Belle gasped and jumped back against the windowpane. The latch sprang open.

Belle felt the window give way behind her, felt the ledge brush against her leg. She saw Rumpelstiltskin staring at her, even thought she heard him call her name, and then the roar of the wind filled her ears.


	3. Chapter 3

He had seen her. For the briefest moment, Belle had looked into the eyes of her true love and seen him staring back at her.

Then she was falling again. This time, the wind whipped at her skirt, causing it to flap every which way as she struggled to beat it back. Her hand ended up in her pocket, and there was something there. It was gritty to the touch, like dust or dirt, and her fingers stung where it touched her.

Magic.

 _Please_ , Belle thought.  _I just want to be somewhere safe – somewhere I can keep both feet on the ground._

She thought briefly of her father’s castle, far away. It had always felt so secure, as if nothing could happen to her there. It still felt that way, even when the ogres had crept nearer and nearer.

And it was never the stone walls or the great wooden doors that made her feel so. It had been the people who made the crumbling old heap of stones feel like a bastion of security.

Her father, the soldiers – even brave, foolhardy Gaston. What had become of them since she had left? Were they safe now, with the ogres gone and the battlefront moved away from their borders?

And what of the man who had done it for them? How could he ever be safe with such a dark power wrapped around him? For that matter, could he ever be happy that way?

Belle felt the sting of the dust in her pocket and knew the magic was taking effect. She only hoped it was enough to take her to a better place – to her father, to the arms of her true love. It didn’t matter which any more.

Her fall had slowed, the wind now no more than a gentle breeze fluttering through her hair and skirt.

Suddenly, there was a feeling like an invisible hand grasping her arm. She gasped at the touch. Where the dust in her pocket was warm to the point of burning, whatever had taken hold of her was so cold that it made her skin go numb where it touched.

There was a horrible sensation of being pulled two ways at once, and her vision blurred. When it finally cleared, Belle was sure she had gone mad.

Before her, the horizon flickered between two images: one, the expanse of green marshlands and dark trees that Belle recognized as those of her homeland; the other filled with the white-capped peaks that surrounded Rumpelstiltskin’s castle in the mountains.

Belle blinked and shook her head. She knew so little of magic that there was no telling what was happening.

But it was breathtaking. When she’d told Rumpelstiltskin of her dreams of seeing the world, she’d imagined the vistas she might come across, yet she’d never pictured something like this. She was hovering over the world, apart but so small. It was at once terrifying and beautiful.

Without thinking, Belle clenched her hand in her pocket. She disturbed the dust as she did so. Another shock went through her, this time with such a jolt that it turned her stomach.

She felt the grip on her arm loosen. The chill receded with it, and Belle rubbed her arm in relief.

Then, to her surprise, she felt the wind pick up. Belle looked up in confusion and saw that the view of the mountains fading against the lush green expanse of the marshlands.

Glancing down, she saw the faded stone towers of her father’s castle. A sense of relief rushed through her. She was home.

But she was still falling.

~

Isobel often dreamed of flying. It was not flying in the traditional sense, however; it was more like she was falling endlessly through a cloudless expanse of sky.

The air in these dreams was cold. The wind beat against her so fiercely that Isobel could not see, could not hear, could hardly even bear to breathe.

Yet for all that, she always found herself struggling to gather enough breath to call out to someone. Who, she did not know. The name always eluded her.

What came after was never the same from one time to the next.

Sometimes she heard the voice of her friend Astrid talking about wishes and desires of the heart. Isobel never knew what to make of it.

Other times, Isobel felt warm hands on her shoulders and heard a voice in her ear. How she heard it over the wind she didn’t know; that was dream logic, Isobel supposed.

It was a pleasant voice, low and smooth, but so sad. Isobel sometimes lay in bed after she woke trying to remember the exact cadence and tone of expression. But all she could recall were the words that were whispered in her ear, over and over, like a desperate plea:

“Come back…come back…”

The one other ending to her dream was the most abrupt. It also frightened her more than any of her other dreams.

She would be hurtling toward the ground, faster and faster by the second, when a great pain came from nowhere and wracked her body, worse than anything Isobel had ever known. It was strongest in her eyes, so intense that Isobel woke instantly every time it happened.

Isobel awoke one winter’s morning after such a dream. She blinked in the bright morning light. Her breathing was fast and hard, her heart pounding in her chest.

She rested back against the pillows and tried to catch her breath. It was just a dream. A dream.

Isobel sat up and sighed. There was no point lying in bed. She was awake now; may as well get an early start to the day.

Yawning, Isobel tossed off the covers and reached for the nightstand. She felt along the edge until she found what she was looking for. The handle of her cane was cold from sitting out all night, but it still felt reassuring in her hand.

She got out of bed with great care, a grace to her movements that Isobel had acquired after many years of patient practice. It had taken a long time to convince her father that she could get up every morning without assistance, and even longer to show him that she could make her way down the stairs without incident. Isobel could still sense him hovering nearby at times. She forgave him for that, knowing how he worried about her.

Still, the freedom she felt when she had the run of the place gave Isobel untold joy. She could get her own breakfast, take her time with her bathroom routine, and spend a leisurely amount of time in the garden without having to wait for her father’s constant little check-ins. He was always asking how she was feeling, whether she ought to be doing what she was doing, wouldn’t she like to go and sit down, did she need his help, and so on. If she didn’t love him, it would have driven her insane.

Isobel made the bed and went out into the hall. She heard a shuffle by the door. A black German Shepherd lay there, watching her while he rested his head on his paws. She knew he was there without seeing him; he waited for her outside her door every day.

“Good morning, Rumpelstiltskin,” she greeted the animal. He stared back at her with a baleful look in his eyes.

Isobel sighed.

“Oh, all right,” she conceded. She screwed up her face in false cheer and said, “Good morning,  _Geoffrey_.”

At this, the dog got up and came to her. Isobel patted his ears while he snuffed at her fingers.

Geoffrey had been with her since she was a child. Isobel’s father had got the dog in the hopes that he could be trained as a sort of guide dog for Isobel. The results had been mixed; Geoffrey was certainly protective of Isobel, trailing behind her wherever she went and helping her avoid any dangers he could detect, but mostly he preferred to lie by her feet and growl at anyone who passed by.

Oddly enough, he only did this with males. To the ladies he was all enthusiasm.

Isobel loved him all the same, silly thing that he was. His name had not been her choice; she had wanted to name his after one her favorite stories, like Puck or Arthur. Her father had questioned her taste, never able to understand why she took such a liking to the “thieving little imp”.

Instead, he’d chosen Geoffrey. He said it was more gallant, whatever that meant. She wasn’t sure a dog had much use for chivalry.

“Shall we go find Dad?” Isobel chirped at the dog.

Geoffrey made no answer but to dutifully pad down the stairs beside her. She kept one hand on the railing and carried her cane in the other.

The ground floor was quiet. Isobel wandered through the house, calling to her father in the various rooms while Geoffrey followed behind her.

When she’d been through the house twice without hearing a peep in response, Isobel stopped in the kitchen to sit at the table. Her father must’ve had to work early that morning. It made sense; tomorrow was Valentine’s Day, a very busy holiday for a florist.

Isobel found herself grinning. Normally her father called every hour or so to check on her. If she wasn’t there to answer, he got upset.

But he didn’t call much in the mornings on days he had to work early. He assumed she was asleep and didn’t want to wake her.

Isobel turned to Geoffrey, now lying at her feet.

“Would you like to go for a walk?” she asked.

He gave her another doleful look. If a dog could frown, Geoffrey would have. He always did when she offered to take him on a walk. Sometimes he was so unlike a regular dog that she had to laugh.

“Well I’m going, and if you don’t want to be left home alone you’d better come too,” Isobel said cheerfully. Geoffrey grumbled and turned over on his side.

She had a quick breakfast and dressed for a walk. It was still cold out, so she took care to dress warmly. Her father disapproved of her going out on the best of days. She couldn’t imagine he’d like it if she caught a chill.

It was colder than she thought when she stepped outside. Isobel felt the air nip at her nose and tied her scarf a little more securely around her throat. It was awkward, what with her cane in one hand and Geoffrey’s leash in the other.

The dog’s response to the temperature was less enthusiastic than her own. He sat on the step with a thump and stared miserably down the path that led to the front gate. Isobel felt the tug on the leash and laughed.

“Come on, it’s not so bad. We’ll warm up after we’ve walked a bit,” she urged him on, pulling lightly on the leash. Geoffrey got up and trotted after her, still not looking very happy with her choice.

They walked down the street at a comfortable pace. A few people stopped to say hello. Isobel did her best to smile and greet them in kind despite hearing the pity in their voices. They asked how she was feeling, what she had been doing to keep herself busy, and so on. Isobel let out a mental sigh. Would she ever be able to live a normal life in this town?

Her thoughts wandered back to her dream as she and Geoffrey made their way toward downtown.  If she really thought about it, the dream made sense. Maybe it was her subconscious mind trying to explain how she had come to be blind. But she wondered at how often the dream came to her.

It wasn’t as is she was unhappy with her life. She’d grown used living without sight and had learned to make the most of it. But still the dream came again and again. What could it mean?

They were turning onto the main street and Isobel felt Geoffrey come to a sudden halt. He was growling. She reached out a hand and could feel his fur bristling even with her gloves on.

“What’s the matter?” Isobel said soothingly.

She moved to pat the dog reassuringly, but he chose that moment to bolt. Isobel felt a painful jolt as the leash leapt from her hand.

“Rumpelstiltskin!” she called out after him, rubbing her hand to ease the shock. “I mean, dammit – Geoffrey!”

 Isobel hurried after the fugitive. She stumbled somewhat, not used to rushing down the sidewalk.

There was a low cry from down the street, followed by a loud thump that she could only assume was a body hitting the pavement.

“Oh my God,” Isobel whispered, increasing her pace to reach the spot where she had heard the sound.

Geoffrey was there. Isobel could hear him growling as he loomed over whatever poor soul he had brought down.

“Oh, hush,” she snapped at the dog. She reached out and felt in front of her. “Are you all right?”

There was a groan. Isobel moved toward the noise and found a shoulder. Its owner was in the process of sitting up on the sidewalk. She tried to help but found herself brushed off by a pair of strong hands.

“Yes, fine, thank you,” came a heavily accented voice. Isobel cocked her head at the sound. She could tell it was a man, but that wasn’t all. There was something familiar in that voice. It stirred something in her, but she could not say what.

“He didn’t bite you, did he?” Isobel asked gently.

“No, though I don’t see why you see fit to–” the voice stopped abruptly, and the hands that had been disentangling her grip on his shoulder wrapped around her wrists.

“You…” he breathed.

Isobel frowned. The more she heard him speak, the more familiar he seemed.

“I’m sorry to ask this,” she said, feeling incredibly awkward. “But do I…know you?”

He released her wrists in a hurry and scrambled back away from her. She was startled by the sudden loss of contact.

“No, dearie, I don’t believe so. I’m not exactly the social butterfly, you see,” he said lightly.

“Oh,” she said, disappointed somehow. She heard him stand and realized he meant to go. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

 “It’s no matter,” he said briskly. “Good day to you, dearie.”

 “Good-bye,” Isobel said. She didn’t know why she was so reluctant for him to leave. She stayed where she was until she could no longer hear his retreating footsteps.

There was a regular clack-clack between each step, and she noted dimly that he must use a cane as well. She wasn’t sure why that made her like him more.

But more than that, she did not understand where the deep ache in her heart had come from.

Isobel sighed and felt around with her foot until she found Geoffrey’s leash.

“That was very naughty of you,” she admonished the dog as she took a firm grip on the leather cord.

“Are you all right, miss?” someone asked behind her.

Isobel turned and found herself confronted with a warm, furry body that was not Geoffrey. The hair was too short.

“Oh, who is this?” she asked, laughing as the creature licked her hands.

“This is Pongo, and I’m Archie –Archie Hopper,” the newcomer said. He had a slightly hoarse voice, but Isobel could tell there was kindness in it.

“I’m Isobel,” she answered with a smile. “And I’m fine, thank you. But could you tell me who that man was, by any chance?”

“Mr. Gold?” Archie asked. She could hear the frown in his voice.

“Is that his name?” Isobel said. She made a face.

Archie must have seen it. He let out a nervous laugh.

“Yes. Is there anything wrong with that?” he asked.

Isobel shook her head.

“No,” she said thoughtfully. “It just…doesn’t suit him, somehow.”

She said good-bye to Archie and Pongo and hurried to get home before her father called to check on her, all the while thinking of a low voice in her ear and warm hands on her wrists.


End file.
